


Aegis

by Blaithin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaithin/pseuds/Blaithin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine Tony & Bucky are dating, but Bucky doesn't talk about his feelings much. One day Bucky is cursed/drinks a truth serum and has to say everything he thinks about out loud. Bucky starts saying “I love you” and other super cheesy shit to Tony every five minutes. Tony loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aegis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironmn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmn/gifts).



** Aegis **

 

Bucky didn’t speak easily.

Not since the Winter Solider, anyway. 

Before –when he had been just Bucky and nothing more, nothing less – he had always known what to say. Girls had fallen in love with his smile and his honeyed words, he had charmed his way out of numerous arrests and his insults had humiliated even the worst of Steve’s bullies. Steve’s mother would cluck at him amusedly, telling him he had the gift of the gab and Bucky would kiss her hand and tell her he merely tried to emulate her.

But that was before. 

Now when he spoke it felt unnatural; words were heavy and slippery on his tongue. His feelings were harder to recognise, to put a name to, and sometimes he felt like his throat was locked up and that the words he did manage to choke out were warped and distorted. Maybe it was because Bucky had been speaking Russian for so long; or maybe, despite Steve’s assurances, his time as the Winter Solider really had changed him irreparably. Having your brain fried for seventy years was bound to leave some damage.

If Bucky had too few words, Tony had too many.

The dark haired man was a talker, he always had something to say and he could say it faster than most people could think it. He could jump between humorous and wonderful and bitingly insulting in a single sentence and he did so often, leaving people who were unused to him breathless and confused. 

Steve had been wary about introducing them, worried that Tony would be irreparably offensive or that Bucky would be too fragile but, within an hour of meeting, Bucky and Tony were as thick as thieves. Tony had liked Bucky’s grounding presence, his flashes of dark humour and Bucky had liked Tony’s physical carelessness; he had liked the man’s constant chatter and the way he gently mocked Bucky for his ignorance of the new century uncaring of Steve’s glower. Sometimes, when the silence of the Avengers’ Tower become too intense and Bucky remembered the long years he’d spent waiting in soundless cryo sleep, he would seek Tony and his voice out. Tony never mentioned Bucky’s abrupt appearances but the door to Tony’s workshop started to open automatically when he was near. Tony’s voice was warm and deep and honey smooth and Bucky imagined it as touches along his skin, soft and caressing.

In hindsight, Bucky had already been half in love with Tony back then.

One night, during a lull in Tony’s stream of consciousness, Bucky absently mentioned that his arm was causing him pain. Steve had once said that being the focus of Tony’s attention was like being in the eye of a storm and for the first time Bucky understood what he had meant. Tony was a whirlwind of activity, drawing up plans and grabbing tools, his eyes locked on Bucky as if Bucky would disappear if he lost sight of him. Bucky trusted Tony, more than maybe anyone apart from Steve, so when the man calmed down enough to ask if he could look at his arm, Bucky only hesitated a second before nodding.

Tony slid into his space to access his arm, fingers gentle and sure as he opened up the main panel. Bucky tensed, waiting for pain or a flashback but Tony’s voice was an anchor and he kept one hand tapping gently on Bucky’s knee, like a heartbeat, steadying him. The pain never came and Bucky became agonisingly aware that Tony was sitting between his spread legs, his breath hot on Bucky’s skin as he kept up a running commentary on what he was doing.

There was a grease smear on Tony’s face and he was wearing a shirt so worn it looked like it would unravel at the gentlest touch. Desire, sudden and unexpected, uncurled in the bottom of Bucky’s stomach. His skin felt hypersensitive and he was breathing shallowly, unevenly. Tony’s eyes lingered on his bare chest, staring at Bucky greedily from under the dark, heavy sweep of his eyelashes.

Bucky was still finding it hard to put words to his feelings but hauling Tony towards him and kissing him until he was shaking and his hands were clinging to Bucky’s shoulders seemed to work just as well. 

As Bucky had suspected, Tony talked just as much in bed as he did everywhere else; he was more surprised to discover how much it liked it.

Afterwards, Bucky ran his fingers possessively, loving, down the bare length of Tony’s arm; his heart was racing, swollen with feelings he couldn’t find the words for.

 

* * *

 

“He’s good for you.”

Bucky glanced up to see Steve standing before him. Steve had his game face on, jaw locked and mouth pressed tightly together as if he was preparing for a fight.

“Who?”

“Tony. He’s good for you.” Steve sat down before him, hands clasped together and eyes painful sincere. “You’re more relaxed with him and he slows down a bit when you’re here. You two are good together.”

Bucky’s throat closed up as he realised this was Steve giving Bucky and Tony his blessing. Bucky and Tony’s relationship had become common knowledge a week ago when Clint had walked in on them and since then Steve had been distant, snappish. Bucky had oscillated between anger and crippling fear; the idea of losing Steve again was worse than the idea of losing himself but he had been stung by Steve’s reaction. Tony’s way of helping was to enthusiastically make out with Bucky in all the places he knew Steve would catch them. Tony called it aversion therapy but Bucky knew he mostly did it because he was angry at Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Steve continued. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Thanks,” Bucky croaked, the word was rough, torn out from his un-cooperating throat. Steve seemed to realise that Bucky wasn’t going to be able to get any more words out because he clasped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and held it there, letting the steady warmth of his skin seep through to Bucky’s.

Bucky smiled so wide it hurt his mouth.

“You should really take him on a proper date, though,” Steve said abruptly, breaking up the long warm moment between them. “I’m getting sick of walking in on you two.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky took Steve’s advice and took Tony out to dinner.

It wasn’t the first date they had been on but it was the first Bucky arranged. Bucky felt sick he was so nervous about picking the right restaurant. He needn't have worried.

They shared pasta and red wine under flickering, golden candlelight and Tony told Bucky about his mother’s Italian family. Bucky threaded his fingers into Tony’s as he listened, rubbing his thumb over Tony’s callouses and scars; he knew that one day he would know the story behind every mark.

Telling Tony about his own family was hard, for a few minutes Bucky forgot his mother’s name and panic clawed at his chest, threatening to swallow him. As abruptly as Bucky had forgotten, the memory come rushing back to him and he dropped back into himself; he had been holding Tony’s hand hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises and Bucky found himself kissing the marks, pressing apologies he couldn’t find words for into Tony’s skin.

After dinner, Tony took him to an ice-cream parlour and they walked home together, arm in arm. Bucky found himself reciting all the dirty rhymes he had made up during his time in the Howling Commandos, the memories blossoming in his mind like flowers after a long winter.

Bucky hooked an arm around Tony’s waist and kissed him. Tony was laughing and the kiss was awful, sloppy and distinctly garlic flavoured. Bucky taped  _perfect_ out in Morse code along Tony’s back and kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

Four months into their relationship, Bucky was sent on his first mission without the Avengers.

It was straightforward: a few days of surveillance followed a simple distance assassination. It went perfectly, right up until the building Bucky was camped out in exploded. 

Bucky skidded under the crumbling ceiling, metal arm stopping a wooden beam as it tumbled towards him. Sudden, inescapable heat bubbled up through the cracks in the floor and sweat gathered along his eyelashes, making his eyes sting and his vision blur. Bucky threw himself through the glass window just as the floor collapsed beneath his feet. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the glass embedded in his skin, but even Bucky couldn’t avoid the sudden avalanche of concrete and metal. He curled his arms over his head and felt darkness swallow him. His last thought was that Tony was going to kill him.

Bucky woke up to the beeping of a heart monitor and Tony’s pale, furious face leaning over him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky croaked hazily, a hint of his old accent stroked the vowels and stretched the word out like toffee, rough-edged and suggestive. For a moment, Bucky and Tony stared at each other in surprise, caught off guard by unexpected accent and the spectre of the man he had once been.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” Tony said finally, his voice uneven. “You nearly died. I didn’t even know where you were and you nearly died.” 

“Tony…” Bucky started and stopped, words clambering and stumbling on his suddenly clumsy tongue. The silence lingered between them too long.

Tony’s face twisted, and he looked down, turning away from Bucky’s gaze. Bucky’s felt anxiety unfurl inside his chest and he tugged at Tony urgently, needing him to understand, to see the words that were caught up in his chest, unable to escape. 

Tony’s face was still closed off, wary but he let himself be tugged up onto the bed, arranging himself carefully around Bucky’s battered body. Bucky pressed his lips into the fluttering hollow of Tony’s throat and wrapped an arm around Tony’s body, making sure he couldn’t leave. Tony shivered and after a moment his hands were fisted in Bucky’s hospital clothes and he was clinging to him so tightly it hurt.

“Stupid man,” Tony said, voice hitching, “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Promise,” Bucky’s mouthed against Tony’s skin. He repeated the word in Morse code along Tony’s spine, again and again until his fingers were slow and sluggish with weariness.  

Bucky was mostly asleep when Tony leaned in close and pressed his mouth to Bucky’s ear. 

“I love you,”  Tony told him.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky and Tony spent their 6-month anniversary fighting doom bots.

Usually, Bucky enjoyed playing 'who can shot the most robots' but it was their 6-month anniversary, which was a big deal according to Natasha, and Bucky has plans involving champagne and silk sheets and showing Tony exactly how much he was wanted. From the furious chatter Tony kept up as he flew past, Bucky suspected he felt the same.

By the time they got home, their food was cold, the champagne was stale and they were both too tired to do anything but sit in Tony’s oversized bath and exchange lazy, weary kisses. 

Tony folded himself into the space between Bucky's legs, so tired that Bucky's chest was the only thing keeping him upright; his hair curled wetly over his face and his skin was already coloured with fresh, painful looking bruises.  

“I love you,” Tony said suddenly, firmly, and twisted to look Bucky straight in the eye; Tony had obviously been preparing himself for this moment and Bucky could see the tension around his eyes, the fear. Bucky’s heart was a frantic, needy thing pressing up against his ribs.

The words were on the tip of Bucky’s tongue; they had been inside him since those long, dark nights when he used Tony’s voice to protect himself against the silence and his horrible nightmares and he wanted to say it, he wanted Tony to know that he was loved, that Bucky loved him and had loved him for months.

Bucky didn't say anything.

Tony smiled and kissed him softly, “I know; it’s ok.” 

_I love you too._ Bucky tapped into Tony’s skin. Tony watched him blankly.

 

* * *

 

In summer, someone leaked the Winter Solider files. 

JAVIS was quick to delete the original files them but nothing was ever truly deleted on the internet. All at once, newspapers and TV stations were discussing Bucky, talking about his past and throwing up images of the people he had killed. Some of them defended him, arguing that he had been manipulated by the enemy, but something about the way they said 'victim' and imagined the torture and brainwashing Hydra had inflicted on him made Bucky's feel sick and furious

Nightmares were a constant impending horror and Bucky stayed awake for three days before he collapsed with exhaustion. Tony wrapped himself like an octopus around Bucky in an effort to force him to sleep – an irony that Bucky found himself too frayed to appreciate. His nightmares twisted into new shapes, the faces of his old victims became people he knew: the lady who served him coffee, Natasha, Steve, Tony. 

_I’m never going back there._ Bucky wanted to tell Tony. _I would never hurt you, I love you._

He didn’t say anything. Sometimes Bucky thought he might explode with all the things that he never said.

 

* * *

 

Tony told Bucky he loved him all the time.

He was generous with his affection; careless with his words in a way that still took Bucky’s breath away.  Tony told Bucky he loved him constantly; he would say it absently, pressing the words in between kisses. It was the first thing he said to Bucky when he woke up and the last thing he said at night. When Tony was strung out and high on orgasms he would repeat the words like a prayer, dragging out each syllable breathlessly.

Bucky called Tony Sweetheart, Darling. He pressed kisses into every inch of Tony’s skin and drummed Morse Code words against Tony’s limbs over and over again as if repetition alone would make Tony understand.

He never said _I love you_.

 

* * *

 

“Buck, look out!”

Bucky twisted at the sound of Steve’s voice. An explosion rocked him off his feet, driving a cloud of red, unnatural mist towards him. Bucky tried to throw himself out the way but the mist moved like an animal, following him down and coiling around his face, pouring into his mouth and nose.

Through muffled ears, Bucky heard Steve screaming his name and felt the vibration of running feet as he fell to the ground.

Bucky and Steve had been sorting through SHIELD’s lockup of confiscated Hydra property. Most of it had been boring: yellowing paper documents, Nazi paraphernalia and guns that looked old and clunky compared to the sleek modern weapons that Tony made. Then Steve had found the dusty, half decaying lab equipment. The jars of swirling liquids and glowing stones had made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up; he had told Steve not to go near them.

The mist soaked into Bucky, leaving him gasping and twisting weakly in the dirt. Steve’s thumbs were biting into his face, pressing into his skin hard enough to bruise.

“Buck, Bucky?”

Bucky’s throat was sandpaper and he felt weak, dizzy from lack of air. “What was that?”

Steve shook his head, his eyes wide and manic looking. “I don’t know; the bottle exploded. Come on, we need to get you to medical, we need to get you checked out.”

Bucky hated medical. He hated the cold, clinical look of hospitals and he hated the way doctors poked and prodded him; it made him feel like a bug, an experiment. It made him remember the way Hydra scientists had looked at him.

Steve had frozen and was staring at him, mouth hanging open.

“What?”

“You just….err…I think I know what that stuff did,” Steve said, hauling Bucky to his feet.

 

* * *

 

“There’s no such thing as a truth potion,” Bucky told Steve mutinously. 

“Technically, it was a mist,” Steve replied lightly.

With the news that the Hydra mist was temporary and Bucky would be back to normal in a few days, Steve’s sense of humour had decided to make an appearance. Bucky suspected he wouldn’t have been so happy if had been him who was suddenly saying out loud everything he was thinking.

“Probably not,” Steve said happily. “I’m mostly just excited to see what Tony will do to you.”

As if summoned, Tony appeared in the doorway. He had obviously come straight from his workshop because he was still in sweats and a thin, soft grey t-shirt. Tony’s business suits were just as much armour as Ironman was, he hid behind sharp lines and ridiculously expensive material, protected against the prying, invasive public attention he attracted; if Tony hadn’t bothered changing he must have been scared.

“I thought you promised you weren’t going to do this to me again,” Tony said, hands sliding over Bucky’s shoulders as if he needed to make sure he was still in one piece.

 “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky said, curling his arms around Tony’s waist.

Tony huffed and his mouth twisted, teeth tugging at his full, lower lip. He swayed closer to Bucky and Bucky felt his heart stutter, a familiar skipped beat of feeling.

“I love you.”

Tony jumped, eyes impossibly wide. “What?”

“I love you,” Bucky repeated and it was easy, so easy. “I love you.”

The feelings Bucky had been trying to find words for were suddenly all there, an easy spill of sentences ready to be spoken.

Tony gaped, for once at a loss for words. Bucky didn’t mind, he had found his.

“I have loved you since you let me into your workshop when I couldn’t sleep. I used to dream about your voice.” Bucky dragged Tony closer, rubbing his thumb over the sharp, hard line of Tony’s jaw, “I didn’t think it was possible to love someone as much as I love you; you are the most brilliant, beautiful, wonderful man and I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Tony cheeks were getting pinker with every word; Bucky didn’t think he had seen anything make Tony blush before and felt a thrill at the sight. Tony breathed unsteadily, his whole body vibrating against Bucky’s.

“That’s one amazing truth spell,” Tony said.

“Technically it’s a mist.”

Tony aimed a punch at his shoulder and Bucky snagged his hands, kissing callouses and scars. “I love these,” Bucky told him, running a finger down a white scar, “I love your hands. I love how grumpy and non-verbal you are before you’ve had your coffee. I love the way you wrinkle your nose when I annoy you. I love the way you laugh.”

“I can’t believe I never realised how much of a sap you are.” Tony groaned, his cheeks flushing again. “Are you going to be this cheesy in front of the others?”

Bucky glanced over Tony’s shoulder. Natasha and Clint had followed Tony into the med lab and were talking quietly to Steve, sending toothy, knowing grins their way; Steve even sent Bucky a thumb’s up.  Tony was going to kill him when he realised they had heard everything Bucky had said.

“Most probably,” Bucky told Tony, grinning crookedly. “But you like it.”

Tony looked away, almost shyly. “It’s kind of nice, I suppose.”

“I can’t always say it but I love you.” Bucky told Tony, “I love you.”

Tony’s fingers were tapping against Bucky’s collarbone, rhythmically, purposefully.

_I know._ Tony told him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this prompt straight away but damn did I struggle writing this! I just couldn't get it right; I must have rewritten this fic half a dozen times, the tone just felt off and my fluff kept derailing into angst. 
> 
> That being said, I hope I did this wonderful prompt justice.
> 
> (Apologises for any mistakes; clean up to come.)


End file.
